Happy New Year
by die Otter
Summary: Pratt had such great plans for New Year's Eve, but suddenly Morris got sick, which forced him to work a shift on this special night.


**A/N Huge "thank you" goes to luvtheheaven ****for betareading this for me.**

**Spoilers for season 11, nothing big though.**

* * *

**Happy New Year**

"You're here, Greg? What about that big party we've been hearing about for weeks?" Chuny welcomed him with a smile that to Pratt seemed slightly mocking.

"No party for me," he answered, honestly, but with a hint of anger, as he shrugged his wet coat off and put it away. "Morris is sick, and someone has to work." With a loud thud he shut the locker door. Inside of it was his new suit, the one he'd bought specifically for the big occasion. One of his college buddies, who had made a fortune thanks to a private practice inherited from his father, had just bought one of these huge mansions which only people like Carter could ever afford. Now he was throwing a big New Year's Eve party there.

The party's official purpose was to raise money for charity, but Greg knew very well that Steve's _main_ goal was to impress those who used to know him as the not-so-smart beginner in the difficult path of medicine who'd only gone into the field because of his famous plastic surgeon father. All their old professors and fellow students were invited, and Greg was curious to see how their lives and careers developed in the years he hadn't heard from them. His old _female_ friends were of course who he was most interested in, especially now that he had something to boast about as well. Sure, it wasn't thousands of dollars and a house the size of an airport, but Pratt felt he had achieved more than many of his friends and teachers would've expected of him back in the day. And, most importantly, he had achieved it all through honest and hard work – something Steve Richardson had never been good at. Thus, he had been truly excited by the upcoming party. Why did Morris have to catch a flu on _this_ New Year's Eve?!

"Are you sure this is not just an excuse for _him_ to go party himself?" When Chuny saw the look on his face, her expression softened immediately.

"You think I'm stupid?" Pratt replied. "I checked. I raided his house, made him show me the thermometer. Over 102!" He clenched his fists at the memory.

"He's plain lucky, then," the nurse snorted. "On a night like this I'd rather take a blanket and TV than this bunch of drunks. I'd take the whole package, fever and runny nose included."

"Alright, what do we have?" Greg gave out a resigned sigh, put his stethoscope around his neck and reached for the chart she was handing to him. "A simple cut? Come on, Chuny, this is a job for a student. Give it to one of them and let me take something more serious!"

"You wish, Doc. They're all busy."

"What about Neela?"

"She's helping Kovač in Trauma 2."

"Nothing new..." he muttered under his nose and reluctantly took the chart.

"Don't grumble, Doctor Pratt, they have their hands full with a drugged teenager who jumped out of a third floor window, while you only need to put a couple of stitches in. Apparently, the patient was hit by a cork when he was teaching his thirteen year old daughter how to open a bottle of champagne."

"Really?" Pratt raised his eyebrows. "Is it a rule that peoples' IQs drop by some thirty percent on days like this?"  
Chuny just shrugged.

"Okay, let's get the party started." Greg had finally decided stalling wouldn't help him to get through the night. The party was in fact over, at least for him, and all he could do was to bury himself in work and try not to think about Steve Richardson fooling around in a pool with all the girls for himself.

* * *

"I've had enough!" Pratt groaned as he slumped down into a chair and tiredly rubbed his eyes.

"Hey, that's _my_ chair," Frank protested immediately. "Find another one!"

"Why?" Greg muttered, not even bothering to open his eyes.

"'Cause you should respect old people."

"Shut up, Malik; no one's asking you!" Frank snapped at the chuckling nurse who had just joined them at the admin desk. "Dr. Kovač, isn't Dr. Pratt trying to shirk from his work?" Frank asked a moment later, his voice hypocritically innocent.

Greg moaned and finally forced his eyes open.

"Please, tell me it's not another firework victim," he pleaded, worriedly eying the charts in his colleague's hand. He'd already treated three burned kids, one college student with half of his hand gone, and a father who'd wanted to impress his sons – in his case it had been only two fingers torn off by the blast.

"Not this time." Luka looked at him understandingly. "You can choose: an ice skater with a broken collarbone, or a drunk teenager."

"I'll take the kid." Pratt reached for the chart. "How many have we already had, ten? The youngest was something around twelve."

"Today's kids can't even drink properly," Frank stated, settling himself in the chair vacated by the resident. "We used to drink just whiskey, none of that piss they like, and it never happened that someone didn't last till midnight and the fireworks."

"We once celebrated New Year's Day about an hour too early..." Luka smiled at his own memories. "My, my brother and our friends... We knew we wouldn't last that long, so we moved all the clocks in the house backwards, launched the fireworks, drank the champagne and the remaining vodka and dropped where we stood... Our neighbor thought it was his watch that had stopped so he did the same. When midnight, the real midnight, came, we were already asleep in all these strange places... Mr. Abramović... that was the neighbor... he was awakened by the fireworks launched by the rest of the neighborhood and he was already so drunk that he thought it was an air raid! So he spent the rest of New Year's Day in his basement." Luka chuckled quietly.

"And I thought you Eastern Europeans were famous for your alcohol tolerance," Frank remarked with a short snort.

"Croatia is in southern Europe," Luka corrected him good-naturedly. "And we were just a bunch of kids."

"So maybe you'll take this one too?" Greg grinned at his older colleague and nodded in the general direction of a teenager, who was busy belting out a terribly off-key rendition of _Last Christmas_. "Common experience and things like that..."

To Pratt's surprise, Luka looked as if he was going to agree, but before he managed to say anything, Malik chimed in.

"Multiple pile-up, two serious traumas, one critical, and a still unspecified number of lighter cases."

"So it looks like our George Michael is going to have to wait some more," Greg summed up.

"Could someone at least make him shut up?" Frank groaned, covering his ears with his hands.

"Hey, kid, last Christmas was a week ago!" Pratt yelled at the kid, but he was, of course, ignored.

* * *

"Happy New Year!"

Pratt looked up with surprise.

"Midnight was two hours ago, Kovač," he observed. Nonetheless, he reached for the plastic cup the other doctor offered him. "Champagne?" he noticed happily and took a sip of the cool, frothy beverage. After a second he made a face and spat it all back into the cup. "What the hell is this?" he choked out with disgust. "It tastes like puke!"

"Children's champagne. Alcohol-free." Luka chuckled under his nose at Greg's reaction. "You thought I'd give you alcohol at work?"

"You could have brought Sparkling Cider, it's lightly colored and bubbly too, and it at least tastes better." Greg grimaced one more time and reached for a cookie, hoping it would help him get rid of that unpleasant, disgustingly sweet flavor. He figured this was some drink that was only popular in Europe, because he'd never even heard of it. Luckily, it seemed that Dr. Kovač had made sure that the unlucky fellows forced to work a night shift on New Year's Eve at least had something to soothe that bitterness with. The small table in the doctors' lounge was covered with various kinds of sweets and fruit. Some of it even looked homemade.

"You made a cake?" mocked Greg, putting a piece of apple pie on a paper plate.

"Chuny did. You wouldn't want to try mine." Luka was still smiling, unvexed.

A thought passed through Pratt's head that it was extremely rare to see Dr. Kovač in such a good mood. Especially if Pratt was the only person keeping him company.

_Weirdo_, he thought. "He's the only person who seems happy to be here tonight." After a few seconds he realized he said the last part out loud.

"I don't mind it." Luka shrugged. "What? It's not like I was invited to a big party, like some of us were. Besides, Sam's on tonight as well," he added after a moment of silence, as if he needed to bring up his girlfriend as an excuse.

Pratt shook his head. "Since I've been here, you've worked on almost every holiday possible. Christmas, Valentine's Day, Thanksgiving, the Fourth of July..." In fact it was only in this moment when Greg realized that. Other doctors protested, bargained, traded their shifts. Kovač was always willing to take a shift for someone else.

"People who have families should spend holidays with them." The tall Croatian shrugged once more. He was no longer smiling. "Don't you feel that, Pratt?" he asked suddenly.

Greg eyed him with surprise. "Feel what?"

"This atmosphere. On holidays like this, everybody who is here – doctors, nurses, patients – they all want to be somewhere else. They feel something was taken from them because they have to be here when others are celebrating."

"Yeah, depressing atmosphere." Greg nodded with understanding. "And that's why you're in such a good mood? Because you're here from your own choice, while others were forced into it?"

Luka shook his head 'no' and gave a short humorless laugh.

"In a situation like this there is this strange bond that appears among people..." he looked up after a moment, his gaze fixed somewhere behind Pratt's back. "Everyone wants to make the best out of it, to celebrate, in spite of the limitations. And suddenly people start to stick together, bond with others, talk, eat, wish all that's best to those who are strangers on a normal day. For a moment they all become one big family." He stopped, threaded his fingers through his hair and finally sent his younger colleague a faint smile. "Wow, this must have sounded so pathetic. Sorry, I guess I'm not in such a good mood after all."

"It's better to celebrate at work than alone?" Pratt suggested.

"Not alone. With... how do you say it? With the Ghosts of Christmas Past?"

"Is it Dickens?" Greg asked, not really sure what to say. He raised the cup to his lips, trying to buy himself some time. However, he forgot what the contents were, so he grimaced once more when he tasted the artificial sweetness of the pseudo-champagne on his tongue. Regardless, he kept on drinking until the drink was gone. _It's still better that talking with him_, he thought, but without the usual aversion towards his older colleague.

Pratt had some general idea about how the Croatian doctor had been in a relatively depressed mental state for a while now. After all, they'd worked with each other for some time now, and besides, gossip was a normal thing around the E.R. Still, he had never felt a strong compassion towards Luka. Of course, he knew Luka's story, but Greg had always felt that his own life had been hard enough, so Pratt didn't bother to waste energy on pitying others. Now however, for the first time, Pratt really thought how lonely Dr. Kovač must have been for the past few years. He seemed lonely; even now, with Sam and the kid, and he definitely was before that. Pratt suddenly realized he could relate to his colleague much more than he had ever suspected.

"Too many memories?" he said finally, because he felt he needed to say something, anything, to show Luka he had listened, really listened to him this time. "I mean, when holidays come and you have nothing to take care of?" He thought of cleaning up their living room with Leon, helping his mother make cookies, decorating the Christmas tree together... and then he thought about the Christmas tree he got this year, the little thing he bought at some sale, already decorated for him. He opened his mouth, about to share some of these thoughts with Luka, but at the same moment the door opened and Sam's head popped in.

"Party's over, boys. EMTs are on their way, another car crash." A mixture of relief and disappointment crossed both doctors' faces. Sam misinterpreted their reaction. "I know, I know. Like we needed that sleet tonight on top of everything else."

* * *

"Pratt, Luka needs you at Exam Two."

Greg handed the chart to Chuny and followed Sam. The car crash had turned out to be a minor collision. The most serious trauma was the broken wrist of a female passenger, who Pratt had just finished tending to, albeit not without pleasure, since the woman was so far the most attractive patient of the night. The drunken man who had caused the accident was under Neela's care, while Dr. Kovač was treating the other driver, who Greg had not seen yet. However, Luka had just called Pratt for a consult, so now Pratt was beginning to wonder if maybe the guy's condition had turned out to be more serious than it had seemed at first.

Soon it became obvious that the severity of the man's trauma wasn't the reason Kovač had asked him to come over – it was the patient himself. Pratt was still outside Exam Two when a very familiar voice reached his ears.

"I'm fine! Really, guys, I'm okay! I need to go back. I should be in bed, I left only to get some aspirin. That flu, you see, an awful thing! I'm very sorry that I couldn't help you out tonight..."

"Morris?" Pratt asked, surprised.

At the sight of the other doctor entering the room, Archie jumped out of the gurney and hid behind Luka.

"Sam, does the patient have a fever?" Greg asked in a terrifyingly calm voice.

"Nope," Sam answered, smiling evilly at the red-haired resident.

"Any other flu symptoms?"

"Nope," Luka echoed her.

"Looks like that busty blonde has some healing powers in her," Malik chuckled from his position over the bed of the already-fast-asleep young Wham! fan.

"That was my neighbor!" Morris protested. "She was helping me, 'cause I was so weak I couldn't walk to the car on my own!"

"Yeah, and that's what she put a miniskirt and stilettos on for?" Sam chimed in.

Pratt took one deliberately slow step towards Archie. Archie took a much faster step back. He sent a desperate glance towards Luka, but the Croatian had already moved back from the scene and was now calmly leaning on the door frame, his hands in his pockets and a vague smile on his face.

"Greg, you saw for yourself! I really had a high fever!" Morris called, shifting his position so that the gurney was between him and his furious colleague.

"You stuck the thermometer into a hot cup of coffee?" Sam guessed. "Alex does that too, but he hasn't fooled me for a couple of years."

"Coffee you say?" Pratt's voice become dangerously low. "And how did you do those teary eyes? Some kind of eye drops?" Morris swallowed visibly and nodded. "And the flushed cheeks? Answer me!" Morris jumped at the sudden yell and took another step back.

"I rubbed them," he admitted.

"Rubbed? Wait till _I _rub your damn face; I'm gonna rub it way harder!" Pratt ripped the stethoscope from his neck, handed it to Sam and begun to roll his right sleeve up.

"Greg, come on, we're buddies, aren't we?"

The left sleeve followed next.

"Dr. Kovač, you won't let this happen on your shift, will you?"

Pratt took two more steps in Archie's direction.

"Help!" Morris yelled and rushed to the door, toppling over a drip stand and almost knocking into Luka, who still didn't move an inch.

"Stop him!" Greg snapped, but Kovač only grinned at him and finally moved out of the way.

"Do you want me to prepare discharge papers?" Sam grinned back at Luka.

"Wait; maybe we'll have to add some new traumas to the list."

* * *

"The last one is already upstairs, there hasn't been any new trauma for over an hour now, and Morris is making up for the lost time with the drunks. Go home, Pratt, get some sleep. Maybe you'll even make it to some New Year's Day party.

Greg sent Luka a surprised look. "There's still about two hours till the day shift takes over," he pointed out. He was taken aback by his older colleague's behavior. All these months of nagging him about him not taking his job seriously enough, about arriving late and such, and suddenly he'd be okay with something like leaving two hours early?

"Go while you still can. Right now we can do without you." The world was over – Kovač actually was smiling at him.

"You're a week late, Kovač, you know?" Pratt let out a curt laugh.

"What?" Luka frowned at him.

"You know, some people believe that once a year, on Christmas Eve, animals can speak with a human voice." He wasn't sure if he was walking on thin ice here, but, to Greg's relief, the older doctor just burst out laughing.

"What kind of animal am I to you? A shark maybe?"

Pratt tilted his head and eyed him for a long quiet moment.

"A German Shepherd," he decided in the end.

"What?"

"You know, those sad eyes, that European accent... And when you latch onto something, you never let it go."

"You have wrong information, this is what Pitbulls do," Luka corrected him, clearly amused.

"Maybe..." Pratt slumped down on the couch. "You still have that piss-drink?"

"You want to drink this fake stuff, when you can go home and have a glass of real champagne?" Kovač raised his eyebrows in wonderment.

"I don't have any champagne at home." Greg shrugged. "And we need to kill some time till the end of the shift."

"Well, then. To the new year!" Luka smiled again and handed him a plastic cup.

"To the new year," Greg returned the toast and the smile. Then he drained the cup in one long gulp. "But next time make sure you have some real champagne, 'cause I'm not gonna drink that piss again."

THE END


End file.
